Sherlock's Kindred Spirit
by bookSmartCat
Summary: Sherlock has been alone his whole life. Even with the addition of John, no one else ever understood the loneliness that comes with these abitlity. Until, that his, he meets a boy exactly like him. However, this boy is tormented by his skills. Aliented from everyone else, he has thrown his life away in favor of acting out. Can Sherlock save this kindred spirit? Or is it all hopeles.


Ch. 1: A Suprising Case

This was a day that would define the rest of their lives. John knew this from the beginning as Sherlock was joining him on a trip to the market. The blond soldier could barely believe it, Sherlock never, _ever_ wanted to go to the market. Later he would wonder if it was devine intervention, or fate that Sherlock had run out of supplise for experimenting.

"Oh come now, John. EvenI need to leave the house _sometimes_." The detective stated in his casual, uninterested voice. "And close your mouth, unless you want to be a fly motel." Of course, that wouldn't be the end of today's weirdness.

John was mentily going over the list of groceries when he slamed into something rough and black; Sherlock's coat. The detective had stopped point blank, staring strait ahead. Following his eyes, John realised what he was looking at, and it was quite a show.

Flashing police cars were parked all around an old apartment building, police men were positioned around the sight. Sherlock noted the broken lock on the door, uncontius officers and broken windows, obvious signs of a robbery. The scene wasn't what had caught both there interests. It was the teenage boy being forcefully stuffed into a police car. He appeared to be about seventeen, judging by his hight and the youthfulness of his face, Sherlock deduced, he had messy black hair, a black trench coat with a white under shirt, jeans and black sneekers. When he looked up, his eyes were a startling green; however, his face was clenched in a snarl. He fought against the cops trying to get him into the car. He flung his limbs every wich way and bit and scratched like a dog. His hands were covered in black markings, possibly tatoos? Though to most he looked like he was lashing out at random, Sherlock saw how calculated they were. He struck pressure points that would be invisible to almost every one except… himself.

_Could this be?_ Sherlock thought in surprise.

The boy struggled fearsely, breading loose of their hold, but then a cop grabbed both his arms and locked them in a pair of hand cuffs. He emidiatly stopped fighting, and turned his attention to the cuffs. He twisted and turned every wich way but it was no use. They were just setting him into the car when John and Sherlock came over. John's heart went out to the boy. His life must have taken a very wrong turn for him to end up like this; it was always a shame seeing such young people being imprissioned. Sherlock, however, was more intrigued by him. He had a new theory to test. First step, start a conversation with the head officer here. Walking up behind him, Sherlock tapped his shoulder and cleared his throat.

"What do you wa-" he stopped as soon as he saw Sherlock recignising him immediately, his tone changed to disbelief. "I-it's you, Sherlock."

"You've heard of me?"

"Oh, yes. You do a great job of solving cases for the higher ups. It's an honor to meet you."

Sherlock already liked where this was going. A group of people who reveared him instead of despise.

"But, why are you here?" asked the flabbergasted cop, "This is a very trivial incident."

"Yes, well," he staded, acting more high and mighty than usual, "it is still very important to keep tabs on all reports, as I, being the best detective around, may need any evidence and any time." John rolled his eyes in the back ground. His gase drifted to the imprissoned boy. He was slouched in the chair, hands behind his back and feet propped up against the back of the chair in front. He was staring directly at him, his entire posture garded and tense, like a wolf, growling to try to pshych out his enemy. His eyes were a very bright green, the color of wild foliage. John recoiled from the intensity of his gase. He felt the need to gard himself, as though all his secrets were out in the open for the boy to see. But his green eyes had a dark, humurous look that said; _try to hide from me? Fat chance! I can break down any barriers you can through up. _His look reminded John of how Sherlock was, able to see all your secrets no matter how hard you tried, though the thought was always hidden from his face.

He tried to turn his gase away from the boy and back to the conversation that Sherlock and the cop were having, though he could feel the boy's wild, green gase burning into his back.

"Now," Sherlock spoke with athority, "what is this young boy charged with."

"Ah, he was charged with breaking into the apartment of an archyologist and trying to steel the artifacts hidden away in there."

"Child's play, really." The boy finaly spoke. He had a snobby tone his his voice, a sence of superiority hidden under the board tone. John was finding a lot of similarities between Sherlock and him. "A 19th century steal pad lock, easy to pry oppen with a thin needle and a hair clip if you know just how to turn your wrist. And a simple, four number combination lock on the closet with the artifacts, it was easy to guess since he had a lot of Roman scrolls, maps and charts lying around. It could only be the year Rome fell, and I mean the full fall, not just the western empire; 1453 A.D."

"Hush it, kid! Your mind may be impressive, but you'll be in huge trouble for this."

"Aw, come on, Mr. Hughes, just cus' your wife kicked you out and you've been living on what meger salery this job can give you doesn't mean you should take it out on your prisoner." The smugness was very obvious on both his voice and face. Mr. Hughes' face turned red and he started lashing out at the boy.

"How do you know that, punk!"

"Simple, you cloths are crinked and caked in durt, probebly from wearing it several days in a row, and your wedding ring left smear lines in the dirt on your hands, showing it was taken off in haste. That means you were left with no clothes due to an argument with your wife where you took off and left everything behind. But this doesn't surprise me. You were a loser to begin with. Never got a rase, never really caught a big time crook, never given respect from the officers, heck you only caught me because I fell off the roof."

Sherlock's eyes lit up, his hypothesis was correct. The boy had a mind just like his; smart, cunning, never missed a detail. Mr. Hughes grabed him by his coat collar, and that was when Sherlock saw his mistake. The kid's hands were clasped behind his back, moving slightly, as the cop yelled the boy galnced towards the alley inbetween the apartment and the next building. Sherlocked followed his stare to a pair of glowing eyes peering from the darkness. A smile crossed the boy's face.

"Mr. H-" but before Sherlock could finish;

"Blue! Now!"

There was an explosion of blue fur and black cloth as a tabby cat launched from the alley and covered Mr. Hughes' face, covering him in scratches and bits as the kid broke free from his cuffs. He swipped the gun from the officer's pocked and ran towards the building. Catching John offguard, the boy cuffed him over the head with the pistol. John fell to the ground, grasping his throbbing head as the cat lept off the cop and ran affter the boy. He looked back to gloat, but Sherlock was just in front of him. The detective grabed the boy's wrist, twisting it so he was forced to drop the gun. Sherlock twisted both the boy's arms behind him as the tabby lept into action. Before it could grab Sherlock, John was up; he snached it out of the air and held the feline close to his chest as it struggled against him.

The cop stubled over, slightly limping from the fall and covered in scratches, and gave a relived sigh, though Sherlock could see the embarisment on his face.

"I appologise, dectective, we'll take it from here."

"No," Sherlock said sturnly. John gave him a surprised look. He was wearing his idea face, and John got nervous. _Please don't do anything we'll regret_, he prayed.

"I will take him."

_Oh, no_. John thought.


End file.
